Chapter 9
by jmsutherland
Summary: Harry discovers what everyone else already; Sally discovers something disturbing.


Page **12** of **12**

**Chapter IX**

Harry's day had gone from baddest, to worser to toilets in a very short time, even before he met Mr. Trilby. It was bad that Commander Carrot thought he was crap at his job, it was worse that The Patrician thought he was crap at his job too. But it was really shit that he thought he was crap at his job as well. Perhaps all that crap explained all these bloody flies, he thought.

Of course he had to rely on his sergeants and constables for a lot of information, but he still pounded his beat each night. Just like he'd done every night since he'd arrived in the city; because he didn't need much sleep. As it turned out he'd just been in the wrong places.

His beat had always been The Shades, right from the start, mostly because nobody else wanted it. He knew what was going on, he knew the players –such as they were- and he knew the victims; because that was almost everyone. But that was why he didn't know this. People in The Shades were so busy just trying to survive that they didn't pay much attention to how other people were striving to do the same. But as soon as he stepped outside that all changed. It was as though everyone knew what was going on, except him.

Though he knew most of these people, he didn't know what they were telling him, because what they were telling him didn't make any sense. No one denied that Omnians were generally despised, or that their houses and shops were being vandalised, or even that they were often being attacked in the streets. But apparently this was "all their own fault". It seemed that they would work far more hours than normal people; even though they were incredibly lazy. And they pushed out proper shops because they undercut them; by overcharging everyone…and on and on.

Even Bert, for gods' sakes, the ground's own pepper:

"I keep myself to myself, Mr. Mudd, as you know, but that's what I hears."

Bert was working the small piece of garden behind his small house, where he grew a small amount to supplement his small income.

"Bert, would you just listen to what you've said?" pleaded Harry.

"Oh, I know it sounds daft," said Bert, "but that's what I hears."

"And what if you heard that someone could grow vegetables by not planting them and pouring bleach into his soil."

"I'd say he was an Omnian," said Bert, with an arched eyebrow and a wry smile.

"Oh, Bert," sighed Harry, "even you?"

"All I wants is a quiet life, Mr. Mudd, I don't bother nobody."

"Actually, Bert, you're really starting to bother me."

And then he had had a meeting with Nigel Trilby.

Mr. Trilby was the leader of the Small-businessmen's Association. He was a neat, little man with a toothbrush moustache and thinning hair that he was trying to disguise with a comb-over. Harry wasn't sure but he suspected was quite a bit younger than he appeared.

"Ah, Captain Mudd, "he said, getting up from behind his desk and offering his hand, "so good of you to come."

Harry shook his hand, which was slightly damp.

"Do have a chair," Nigel went on, "would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you, sir," said Harry, "I'd prefer to get down to business."

"Quite so, quite so," said Trilby, "well I'm gratified that Lord Vetinari appears to be taking our concerns seriously."

"So it would appear," agreed Harry, "what precisely are your concerns?"

"Well, all that we in the SA are looking for is a level-playing field…"

"And you feel that the playing-field is not level, I take it."

"Indeed," said Mr. Trilby, "and, to be frank, it's all down to Omnian immigrants."

"Is it? And how exactly do they make the playing-field uneven?"

"Well, frankly, by undercutting."

"So, they charge less than your members?"

"No, not as such."

"Then in what way are they undercutting you?"

"Well, now I'm not saying they're dishonest, but it's not really the same product they're selling."

Harry seemed to remember that this was called _apophasis_ in Ephebe: saying that you're not going to say something, and then saying it.

"Let me see if I understand you," said Harry "are saying that Omnians charge the same for a particular product as your members, but that their product is just better?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that, quite frankly."

No, Harry thought, because you're probably one of the least frank people I've ever met.

"May I ask what your business is, ?"

"I hardly see how that's relevant."

"Indulge me."

"I'm a meat importer."

"Hmm. Omnians don't really eat meat, so I'm fairly sure they don't import much of it."

"Oh, naturally I'm not concerned for myself."

"Naturally."

"But the SA has many members…"

"Such as?"

"My friend Mr. Seemly."

"Who's a wine-seller, and Omnians don't drink."

"Or Mr. Carpenter…"

"What! The world's worst joiner?"

"I sorry, Captain, but I don't really think I like your tone. It is the duty of The Watch to stand-up for the rights of the decent, hard-working people who were born here."

"Is it now?"

"Yes, it is!"

"Well, a great many of these so-called Omnians were actually born here."

"That has nothing to do with it, as well you know."

"Actually, I don't think it does either, but I really don't like _your_ tone, Mr. Trilby, and I now have an overpowering urge to wash my hand. Good day."

So here he was now, sitting in The Duck drinking whisky in the day to try to get the taste out of his mouth. If there was anyone he was angrier with than himself it was Sergeant Visit. Deepdelver and Detritus barely noticed what humans did, but that wasn't their job. Sergeant Cuttler was human but, for various reasons, wasn't competent by virtue of being on the edge of insanity. Visit was Omnian and was obviously aware of what was happening, so why hadn't he told Harry. Mind you, now that he thought about it, he remembered a report Vlad had made to him that he hadn't really paid much attention to. Perhaps Visit had just assumed he'd be ignored. He was probably right.

The Day Watch wasn't the ideal place for a vampire but Prince Vladimir Nicolas Josef Illyich Vossarianovich Romanoff-Ulyanov liked a challenge, and was good at keeping to the shadows. Also, he didn't really sleep, so he often did the nightshift as well, but then so did Harry. Like all the other vampires who were off _the red stuff_ when he did try to sleep, it was troubled. Young women, especially in Überwald, often had nightmares of a dark, demonic presence invading their bedrooms to ravish them and bite them and drain them of their blood. In his bad dreams he was that presence.

Still, it could be worse; at least he wasn't Lucy. He'd first met her in Schwarzbergstadt about a hundred years before and had been utterly captivated. The contrast between her tiny, almost childlike, body, her sweet, beautiful, innocent face; and those wild fiery eyes and cruel smile had quite taken his breath away. Or it would have done, if he'd breathed.

It was difficult to see any part of La Donna Lucrezia di Magenta i Solferino in the pathetic wretch that he saw now, and he did see her quite a bit. Of course they were bound to bump into each other at the butcher's shop and at the hospital, but he'd also sometimes walk her _home_ from The Sisters of Kindness when things were slow.

Lucy didn't actually have a home. She worked at the shop, then the hospital, then at the Omnian home for the destitute and then went back to the shop. Bernie paid her well and fed her for free and the hospital paid her too, but she was totally penniless. She either gave all her money to The Sisters of Kindness or had it stolen. She was constantly being robbed. Various muggers had discovered that she always carried all her money with her and, that when they attacked her, she never fought back. At first Vlad had thought of reporting it to the Thieves Guild, but then he'd joined The Watch instead.

It was remarkable how easily people could be dissuaded from attacking a frail, helpless girl just by a huge, terrifying, dark shape descending on them and breaking some of their bones. No one seemed prepared to stick in at their jobs these days, he thought, young people just lacked a proper work-ethic.

Eventually Lucy had consented to use his room to at least change her clothes –vampires never needed to wash- and keep some money in a jar there. Though gods' knew what she might ever spend it on. The hospital provided her with a nurse's uniform; Bernie supplied a smock and an apron for work. Other than that she seemed to own one small, white dress that she wore to the hostel and –as far as he could see- nothing else, not even shoes.

Whenever Vlad walked with her she always looked as if she'd just been crying, or was on the verge of tears; that's when she wasn't actually weeping. Yet at the butcher's she was always laughing with the customers. At the hospital she was always cheery, though concerned, and at the hostel, always smiling and sympathetic. He'd actually tried to broach the subject with her once:

"Luzy, you cannot keep punizhing yourzelf forever, you know?"

"Yes, I can!"

It had been said with such total finality that he saw no point in arguing about it, though that's when he'd decided to talk to Sally about her.

Of course the main reason for his wanting to talk to Sally about Lucy was that he wanted Sally. One of the benefits of being a vampire was that –though you might lie about everything to everyone else in the world- you never lied to yourself.

He remembered very clearly the first time he had seen Sally. It had been at a Grande Balle at the Autumn Palace in Üpyrgrad. In the Great Hall, amid a swirling sea of beauties she had managed to stand out as a crest among the waves. He had a feeling that Lucy had been there too. And he remembered his father's hand upon his shoulder.

"Zhe iz not for you, my zon."

"Vhy not? Zhe iz the ze mozt beautiful girl I have ever zeen."

"Her family iz of inverior ztock, and wampirez never marry for loff."

At the time it hadn't seem to matter as Sally only had eyes for Harry. To the obvious disapproval of both sets of parents, and against not only all precedent but any semblance of uncommon decency, they appeared to be totally, and hopelessly, in _loff_.

And now they weren't. He had no idea what might have happened between them down the decades, but now they barely spoke to each other. And that was why he was on the temple roof with her now. He'd flown most of the way and then misted down on to the parapet to walk the last few yards towards her totally silently.

"Well done, Vlad," said Sally, "no one else can ever get that close."

"I vaz not trying to creep up you."

"Of course not; I prefer a vegetarian diet myself."

"Ah, it iz zo refrezhing to commune viz zee dark zpiritz. Vat are vee doink up here?"

"That!" said Sally, pointing down into the street.

A large ugly crowd carrying flames was mustering on the edge of Egitto, the largely Omnian enclave shouting very ugly things. And they were clearly in a very ugly mood.

"Vlad, I'm on duty and in uniform, would you do me a huge favour and…"

"Oh, you vill not owe me one for zis. I cannot remember ze lazt time I had an angry mob vit torches to play vis."

He leapt off the tower and Sally watched him land gently a few yards in front of the mob. She had a lot of other things to do but decided to hang around for a bit a watch Vlad work the crowd.

Any nasty bunch of bullies will always enjoy encountering a lone opponent and it started jeering at him as soon as it saw him. Though it seemed surprised that he didn't immediately run away, it just made it angrier. And then he reached out to their minds. He wasn't expecting much, but what he found surprised him.

To anyone who was watching, and who wasn't part of the crowd –even to Sally- he didn't appear to be doing anything. But to his audience it was a terrifying performance. First his eyes began to glow like hot coals, then smoke started to swirl out of his body; then the smoke turned jet-black and became giant wings while Vlad himself grew fifteen feet taller as his skin began to burn with a fierce blue flame. By the time he opened his six-foot wide mouth to let them gape down his volcanic throat, they were already on the run.

"Bravo," said Sally, clapping her hands as he joined her back on the roof, "you certainly haven't lost the old magic."

Vlad, smiled and swept off a bow, but Sally could see that something was bothering him.

"Is there a problem, Sergeant Romanoff-Ulyanov?"

"Vell, Sergeant von Humpeding , zat voss not ze uzhual crowd."

"In what way?" asked Sally, becoming suddenly curious.

"No mind," said Vlad.

"Well, that's hardly unusual, all mobs are mindless, aren't they? No longer individuals but…"

"I do not mean zat," he interrupted, "zis vos not a hive-mind, it vos no mind vhotzoever; az zo zhey did not even know vot zhey ver doink."

"That's what they all say."

"No, really, it vos az zo zomzin vos controlling zhem and ven it zensed me it dizappeared."

"Maybe it just didn't like you," laughed Sally.

"And I very much did not like it eizher," he said, flatly, and watched the smile die on her face.

Harry rubbed his eyes, because he thought they must hurt from all that not looking.

"I haven't seen you here at this time before, Captain Mudd," said Kate, "are you having a bad day?"

"I couldn't begin to explain."

"Oh you'd be surprised at what you can explain to me," said Kate, leaning across the bar and wiggling her boobs. Harry had to smile.

"My wife doesn't understand me," he laughed, without humour.

"Really, is she foreign?" said Kate, pouting.

Now he really did laugh, and he didn't realise he still had that in him:

"No, just female; almost as incomprehensible."

"Sure she isn't just Omnian?"

It was as though the nine whiskies he'd just had were suddenly sucked from his body.

"You know about this!?" he asked, incredulously.

"Of course, everybody does," said Kate, with a disbelieving face.

"I didn't."

"Really, Harry, are you sure about that?" she asked, tilting her head to let him know that she already knew the answer.

"Bad cop?" he asked, plaintively.

"And then some," she affirmed. He hung his head in shame.

"And now I have to go round to Commander Carrot's house," he said morosely, "and this time what's waiting for me is even worse than the food."

"Before you do that I'd have a word with my head barman, if I were you."

"Patrick? Why?"

"Well, his girlfriend's an Omnian and so is his best mate, and his best mate's girlfriend…"

"Ok, I get the idea," said Harry, "what time does he come in?"

"Oh, he won't be long," said Kate, "why don't you have another nine whiskies while you're waiting?" Even Patrick's friend Smite couldn't compete with Captain Mudd when it came to consuming huge amounts of alcohol without ever showing signs of becoming even slightly tipsy.

"Sure where's the harm?"


End file.
